


Only Have Eyes for You

by orphan_account



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Doo Wop, Eventual relationship, I only have eyes for you, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Post-World War II, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, dan is the cute young journalist, illegal relationship, phil is an editor, post war britain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 14:18:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12842967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Society in Britain has altered beyond recognition after the Second World War. The Britain of the 50s is full of romantic diner music and rebel teenagers who are free to live and love. Philip Lester doesn’t mind working overtime as an editor for a newspaper if there’s a chance he can participate in this social change. To Phil, being a man of the modern age inspires his work… That is until a young journalist who never hands in his articles on time catches his editor's eye. Phil might need society to change further still before he can consider a romance with any man at all, much less a colleague. Especially since touching another man is a criminal offence.





	1. Deadlines and Mirrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote this to try to circumvent writer's block, which I'm experiencing with my major work at the moment. I thought that if I wrote something, anything, then I might feel more motivated and a little less annoyed at myself. It kinda works, except I may be so in love with this idea that I write it as a multi chaptered fic and end up recreating the exact problem I'm trying to circumvent. OOPS

The hours at the newspaper office were dragging on well into the evening. Most of the journalists and secretaries would probably be halfway home by now, having snuck out of work to enjoy their Friday night. Mr Lester had no such delusions; Monday’s edition of The Daily Sketch still wasn’t organised despite him working on it since early morning. A stack of papers and articles were scattered across his study waiting to be edited, arranged, and pasted together.

The private study was cluttered with photos and cameras, typewriters, unfinished articles, misprints, and old publications that the man liked to reference for inspiration in his own work. Mr Lester was glad that the office hadn’t been redecorated in a more modern style—the dark wooden panelling and moody lighting from lamps on his desk hid from view most of the mess. Most interiors in London were an echo of the distant Victorian era, and it seemed like so long ago. Two world wars and everyone had moved on. Society in Britain was changing, but this office remained stagnant as ever.

The sun had already set over London but its light lingered, casting a pink shade on the dull wooden panels through two windows. There was no movement outside the study, the office was completely empty. The remnants of the sunlight reminded Mr Lester of how late it was getting and that he would be in for a very lonely night at work if he didn’t get started on the clutter. But he didn’t want to read over dramatic articles from junior reporters about Margaret and Peter—the public seemed interested in only one thing but he’d had enough. He wanted his section of The Sketch to have some real stories.

Despite his frequent daydreams, Mr Lester was of course a hardworking man. It had taken many years of being a petty journalist to eventually become an editor at The Sketch. So, the man pulled himself away from his thoughts and crossed to his turntable to play a favourite record.

Mr Lester settled into his chair, undoing his sleeves and top buttons on his shirt. He wished he could take off his suit pants and shoes and unclip his braces, but this wasn’t his home office. Constant pulse from a piano bounced around the room as a record started spinning. It was at a lazy speed.

 

The sunlight was well and truly gone as it got onto half five. Mr Lester had read only three articles so far, all containing too many awkward sentences and errors for him to just skim them and approve. He sighed, wiping his eyes with both hands and spinning around on his swivel chair. He started humming the nth track on the last record he’d put on to keep his restless mind occupied.

A tentative rap on the door jolted the man out of his trance. He jumped up and organised his papers, doing up his buttons and readjusting his braces to look somewhat orderly. Mr Lester realised the door had a glass panel, so his efforts were for naught as the boy on the other side probably already saw him wallowing in his mess before anyway. He ripped the needle off the record before moving to the door.

He swung it open to see Howell, one of the junior journalists. His tie had been loosened around his neck and his brown hair had curled with sweat, probably from rushing around to get the papers in his arms printed. He was nothing short of rugged and boyish. The editor had seen Howell in the office a few times. He was a budding writer with an annoying streak of perfectionism. The editor usually liked reading his things, but it was inconvenient given nothing he handed in was ever on time.

“Mr Howell, I’m extremely busy. This better be up to scratch or it won’t be making Monday’s paper.”

“I’m so, so sorry, sir,” the boy said, thrusting his messy stack of paper to the editor before he had time to respond. “I know it’s late and all but-”

“Yes it is,” Mr Lester agreed, slumping back down into his chair and flicking through the pages. “You better make a pot of coffee and settle in for the night while I rip this article apart.” This additional article would take an hour to go through on its own, besides half of a junior’s workload was getting Mr Lester his coffee so he didn’t feel bad about ordering Howell around.

The boy returned to the study with a pot, placing it on the desk. He stood with his hands behind his back, waiting.

“I started reading your article. It’s actually quite good, I’ve been waiting for something original,” Mr Lester said after a few moments of awkward silence. He had been impressed, the boy showed some talent. “I think _A Woman’s Role in Post War Britain_ is an excellent topic to challenge this new age.”

“Thank you, sir. I took the extra time to finish it up, I hope it won’t be too much added work for you.” Howell had a guilty look in his eyes, which Mr Lester had to smirk at. He could excuse it, the writing was of good quality and the journalist caught the editor’s eye since he’d started at the agency. He was young, naïve, and quite attractive. That counted for something as not many boys came back after the war; Howell was a rare gem.

“We better get on with it, over here I have all the articles I want to make the final cut. The rest can be thrown out…” He explained the process to Howell, putting the late article on the ‘final cut’ pile, earning a blush from the journalist.

“You’ve decided not to include Henry’s bit on the Suez Canal?” Howell asked, seeing his colleague’s piece on the ‘discard’ pile.

“Oh, definitely not! It’s full of factual errors and I just don’t have time right now. He’ll have to rethink it.”

“Wow, that’s savage.” The journalist smirked at his colleague’s failure, he was a bit too proud anyway and this gave him some ammunition for Monday. Office drama was one of the pleasures of working in a tight knit group of creatives.

“Well he should have fact checked it before he handed in that rubbish!” The two laughed over Henry’s unfortunate attempt and Mr Lester’s cutthroat attitude.

“You know I always thought of you as a ruthless editor, Mr Lester, but you’re actually quite fun,” Howell giggled. Mr Lester pushed some false annoyance onto his face as if offended. Howell piped up when he saw it, “Maybe I should hand in my work late every day!”

“Please don’t, I’ll have to move into this shoebox if you do.” The editor’s annoyance broke and he smiled. “By the way, if we’re going to be stuck here with each other for the whole night, could you call me Phil?”

“Do I get to ask you to call me Dan?”

“Absolutely not, Dan.” They sniggered at each other, Phil walking to the turntable to change the record.


	2. Only You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phil's record player goes for this song: https://youtu.be/9r2pEdc1_lI

The boys had been at it for a few hours now, and the clock had loudly informed them was now eight. The entire office was pitch black, except for Phil’s study which was a mess of lamps hoarded from cubicles outside for their own use. The air was much hotter and the two had abandoned their braces and ties and allowed their shirts to be untucked as much as they pleased.

“You seem way too happy Phil, are you a rare breed of human who likes working late on a Friday?”

“Well, it’s not like I have anything else on. No wife or kids at home, I prefer to keep my schedule open thank you.” It was partly true, Phil wasn’t looking for a family just yet. On the other hand, he knew he’d never have one. Being an editor was a sponge for time—but he knew that wasn’t the true obstacle.

Phil remembered V-Day very clearly as a 19 year old. He’d barely missed conscription himself, so he was grateful indeed for the end of the war. Everyone gathered outside the palace and watched the royals and Churchill wave to them from the balcony. Phil particularly enjoyed watching the marching down The Mall. The boys that did return looked strapping, and Phil couldn’t take his eyes off them. Perhaps the men’s uniforms were more au courant than the nurses’ dresses, but he doubted that excuse as well. The men were simply more appealing, and Phil hadn’t really figured out why he didn’t like the women as much. People thought that was very wrong, so he kept to himself about his issue to spare the embarrassment.

The editor smiled in spite of the thoughts, Dan having enough sense not to further question. Instead he moved to the turntable and put a new record on. The angelic voice of a young man shone over the silence in the room.

**_Only you can make all this world seem right._ **

Dan blushed at the irony of the lyrics. He kept himself busy, trialling arrangements for the articles that were approved on a sketch board. If the boys could decide how to arrange the content on the page, they would finally have the framework for a newspaper.

**_Only you can make the darkness seem bright._ **

Dan couldn’t contain himself any further. “Oh for fuck’s sake this is too much!”

Phil whipped around, confused by the sudden outburst. “Mr Howell, any reason for that fine use of language there?” The question was partly for his unwarranted language but he had other concerns too. Dan hid his further surprise at the lyrics behind his smile.

**_And you fill my heart with love for only you._ **

“I just… uhm… realised I made mistake on the arrangement, is all.”

“Alright…” Phil said, rather unconvinced. The two continued their work separately, neither saying anything. Phil secretly liked it that the attractive journalist felt comfortable enough to let slip some profanity. He threw himself into another article to avoid Dan inferring it from the look on his face.

**_When you hold my hand I understand the magic that you do,_ **

**_You’re my dream come true, my one and only you._ **

_‘Fuck me on a clothes’ horse,’_ Dan thought to himself as the song didn’t seem to be relenting whatsoever. He had half a mind to change the track.

A few minutes later and the song had ended anyway. Phil seemed happy as he turned a page of one of the more decent pieces in his stack of articles.

“And what is Mr Lester smiling at?” Dan prodded, trying to take the focus away from himself and his embarrassment at the lovely dovey lyrics in the song.

“I just passed my hourly quota, is all. Nothing interesting to see here.” Phil successfully defended Dan’s prying question, suggesting they take a break and return after some dinner. “I’m so hungry, I could eat an entire cow.”

“You wouldn’t do that, everyone says you like animals a lot.”

“Well yeah, but they’re tasty enough for me to temporarily waive my love of them and indulge so let’s go eat.”

“How humanitarian of you!”

“Just shut up and help me pick a place for food, you ass.” Phil grinned at his profane addition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will be updating again soon, probably tomorrow as I'm starting on the next chapter right now anyway


	3. In the Still of the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diner music: https://youtu.be/MRb1-SAAIzs
> 
> Not really sure why all doo wop is soppy romantic but whatever!

The two men removed themselves from the office, leaving all the lights on as the daunting task of organising the rest of the paper still hadn’t gone away. It wasn’t long before they were bouncing down Shaftsbury Avenue to find a place to eat.

“What about Italian? French?” Phil asked. He’d put so many options before the other man that he was beginning to get very tired and very hungry.

“Nah, I’m just not feeling it… you know?”

“No I don’t, really, because I’m actually hungry in this moment right now!”

Dan sighed at his own indecision. “This is why I’m glad we have free immigration, maybe people from the colonies can actually bring some good food to London.”

“Well, we could try find some Indian—oh wait,” Phil joked. He earned a laugh from Dan, who muttered something about a man who gave away some country far away. The two continued walking amid the racy theatres and endless sea of cars and buses with their lights flashing. The crowded pavement was something magical about the capital city—there were people everywhere.

“Are you a political man?” Phil inquired, “You seem to know a lot about that stuff.”

“I have my opinions…”

“So does that mean you can finally give an opinion on what food you want to eat?”

“God damn it, Phil!”

A few minutes later, the two walked into a cheap looking diner. Dan managed to convince Phil that dessert could come before dinner. He agreed without much of a fight, so they took to the pancake section of the menu. The two found a seat in a booth, watching a group of young men and women in the next one over joke freely and loudly while sipping on their strawberry milkshakes. The small diner looked very inviting with its neon lights and warm air, the smell of pancakes wafting through. Some of the same lazy music from Phil’s turntable was on as well.

 ** _In the still of the night_**.

“See, society really has changed—everyone’s out and about late at night, spending their money and laughing their way through life,” Dan said while looking through the extensive selection of chocolate based pancakes. Phil raised his eyebrows at him. "It's the emergence of the teenager."

“You say that like it’s bad?”

“Not bad, exactly, just different from how it used to be. Observe, the natural ways of the teenager: they spend more, they consume more, and they want more.”

“Can you really blame them after growing up with food stamps?” Phil liked that Dan was passionate about the same things he wanted to write. It would make him an excellent journalist and maybe something more someday.

“I'd argue that they didn't really experience the war like you or I did... but I guess you're right. I do wish they’d be quieter, though!” Dan had to shout as the teens became excited over ‘some boy Anne was dating.’

“I admire your passion, it’ll make your work stand out. If only you could hand it in on time.” Phil jabbed him. Dan thought about why he was putting his editor through hell by waiting until Friday to hand in his work. It had to be infuriating. He just wanted to be as thorough as possible.

“You know that’ll never happen, diamonds are made under pressure Mr Lester.”

“Thought we agreed on first names, Howell!” Phil said, catching Dan out on his nonsense. “I don’t need you to write me a diamond, just give me something to work with at least a day before the deadline.”

**_I held you, held you tight._ **

**_‘Cause I love you,_ **

**_Love you so…_ **

Dan was pulled back to reality—sitting in a diner with his editor as a waitress came and took their orders. Buttermilk with chocolate sauce and strawberries was the first thing that tumbled out of his mouth, so he decided that was good enough.

**_Promise I’ll never,_ **

**_Let you go._ **

**_In the still of the night…_ **

The voices on the backup singers continued into the second verse. The casual, lazy beat of the music completely took Dan away as it echoed through the diner.

**_I remember… that night in May…_ **

And then Dan thought of Charlie. Who sent himself off to Normandy to die too young.

 

 

**3rd of May, 1944**

Dan felt too terrified to object when Charlie pulled him inside the ruins of a bombed east London café. The blitz had ended a few years ago but not much had yet been repaired. The chaos outside grew loud as impatient civilians queued to receive their ration stamps at nearby offices. The sun was setting over the city, and the coldness of night would be coming soon. The shouting and crying from children could be heard all around. It was a harsh place to grow up, and Dan thanked his lucky stars that he had a relatively normal upbringing during peacetime. With every passing day, the food allowances became scarcer and the city became darker. It wasn’t a fair world.

“Charlie, what’re you doing? I was waiting in line to get food-” The other boy’s arms wrapped around Dan, pulling him out of sight behind a ruined brick wall. Charlie's blond hair was filled with soot and dirt that rubbed onto Dan's shirt, but he didn't care. He whispered something into Dan’s ear, but he couldn’t work out what it was through the boy’s sobs and tears. They mixed in with the soot and stained his shirt. Dan pulled back to see a constant bout of terror strewn across Charlie’s face.

Charlie’s pale complexion and starved body had no life or colour left, much like Dan’s own. The food allowances were running short, not that it mattered as neither of them had the money to hit the upper limit anyway.

After Charlie turned 14 the year before, his father was called to the front in Sicily and never returned. His mother died in the winter that year when they couldn’t afford the coal to heat the house. Dan and Charlie took each other’s company and tried to be united in their grief when they found themselves with no one else left. Meeting each other in the line for rations years ago was the best thing that happened to Dan so far.

“I promised I’d never let you go,” Charlie sobbed as he clung to Dan once again, “but I have to.”

Dan didn’t understand. He grabbed Charlie by his arms and shook him, trying to figure it out. “Why do you have to go? Please, please just stay…” Dan broke down in frustration and fear.

“There’s no money left, Dan,” Charlie said, holding out the last £10 he had to his name. “Take them.”

“What will you do? Where will you go?” Dan pushed the coins back to Charlie, who only shook his head and put them into Dan’s pocket.

“I’m old enough to get away with it now, and it’ll provide a place for me to go and food at least. I know you could use the extra coin.”

The remaining colour in Dan’s face drained as he sank onto the rubble on the floor, pulling his knees towards his chest. “You’re going to leave me here?”

“I didn't want to,” Charlie said, "but then I realised that I have no real choice, no one does." He said it as if he didn't want to believe it. He lowered onto the rubble into Dan's lap and the boys cried into each other until the light left the streets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of tragic backstories? The war still lingers...  
> #character development


	4. Hold me Again

“Dan? Are you even listening?” Phil waved his hand in front of the journalist’s blank face and unmoving eyes. Phil didn’t receive much of a response. “Are you okay?”

**_The stars were bright above._ **

“Hmm what was that Phil?” The journalist rubbed at his eyes; there were no crying children or bombed out cafes here and now. Just the mindless, rowdy banter from the teenagers and the thrumming of light music through the air.

**_I hope and I’ll pray,_ **

**_To keep,_ **

“The food’s here, I wasn’t sure if you were going to tune out on me,” Phil said. Two plates of pancakes were in front of them, Dan’s untouched. Phil had taken a few bites of his already. “I wanted to know whether I’d have to drag you back to the office asleep, we still have loads to do.”

**_Your precious love._ **

Dan felt his ears being invaded and his mind filled with memories. Blond hair and beaten down features were everywhere around him. Phil looked at the journalist with cautious curiosity; beads of sweat dripped down his forehead and his hair had curled again, even with his habit of combing it down with his fingers. Phil reached out to Dan’s hand and grabbed it in his own, giving him a caring and reassuring look.

“What’s happened?”

**_Well before the light,_ **

 “Nothing, it’s quite hot in here isn’t it?” Dan said, pulling away from the editor. He grabbed at his shirt and ripped off his tie, bundling it up in his hands.

**_Hold me again_ **

Phil looked very concerned by then, but more than that, he felt a need to protect the younger man. He wanted to pull him aside from the world and understand what went wrong. He wanted to be there to listen as perhaps no one else had.

**_With all of your might,_ **

Of course, Phil couldn’t have a troubled journalist working under him. It was his responsibility to make sure everyone was comfortable at the office. That’s from where the desire came.

**_Hold me again in the still of the night._ **

****

It was only a quarter of an hour before Phil asked for the bill as Dan was, for whatever reason, not in a state to do so himself. The diner had gotten quieter after the noisy teens left. The girls floated out with their short sleeveless dresses and the boys followed in their ill-fitting jeans and jackets. Dan was right, Britain was moving on. Phil felt uneasy to think that he was potentially being left behind—the only unmarried 32 year old in town no doubt. Men were supposed to have their wives and families by now, but not Phil. He wondered how long he had left before society left him in the dust for good.

The two walked back, silently, to the office. Thankfully it wasn’t a long walk. Phil was desperate to find a time and place to open a conversation about whatever had upset Dan, but he knew better. The way of the Englishman was to suppress the feelings and bottle them up. You didn’t talk about private and emotional matters with colleagues. An Englishman never let another see him cry. ‘Next you’ll be telling me that you’re secretly an American,’ his father used to say.

Sometimes, uptight English culture suited Phil. No one would ever ask him about his marriage prospects unless he specifically mentioned it. They might think about it and judge him silently, but he wouldn’t hear it from their mouths. He only wished it were acceptable to talk to someone, anyone, about his liking for other men. Maybe in this new Britain, the one filled with modern short hemmed dresses, rock and roll, and blue jeans and leather jackets, that would change. But for now, Phil felt only the pressing task of finishing the newspaper and going home. He needed the rest.

When they arrived at the office, the lights in the study were still on. Phil’s workspace appeared like a beacon in a dark space, drawing him back to work as always. It was exhausting. Dan still hadn’t said a word, and they both figured it best to just get back to work on their own separate tasks. Neither of them made a move to place the needle back on the record on the phonograph.

Dan worked quickly, making last minute changes to his article based on Phil’s suggestions. The latter was busy arranging and gluing articles onto the first draft of the newspaper page. Both of them felt their eyes drooping and the sticky sensation of sweat evaporating through their shirts.

It had just gone half nine.

“This still has a long way to go. If you’re done with your article then please just head home, you don’t need to stay,” Phil told the journalist, who was already rubbing his eyes and yawning. Dan couldn’t bring himself to disagree.

“Just let me fix you a pot of coffee before I go, it’s the least I can do.” While Dan ran off to find coffee, Phil smiled to himself and let out a bit of a chuckle. It was a funny yet exhausting situation; to be stuck in an office almost five hours after everyone else had left. Life was silly.

Dan came back with the pot, blushing from either the heat in the air or from something else as he moved towards Phil to say goodbye.

“It’s been fun working with you on this, good luck with the rest,” Dan said as he extended his hand to shake Phil’s. The editor had to refrain from laughing again; the formality of the English was unparalleled. He thought for a moment of pushing forward and hugging Dan—they had bonded a bit in just a few short hours after all. Diamond articles were definitely not made under pressure, but Phil knew that the best friendships were. The overtime had been taxing, but Dan didn’t complain once. In fact he seemed keen to get to know Phil and help him. The positivity radiating from Dan’s character was a welcome change to the usual dreary office culture.

“A pleasure to meet you as well, Mr Howell. Please make sure you hand in your pieces on time going forth, or we’ll end up doing overtime again.”

“And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Dan winked and smiled, turning towards the door and back to his own desk outside to get his coat.

When Phil could no longer see Dan through the dark office, he distracted himself with his arranging and gluing. He had a blush on his cheeks and a bounce in his step when he crossed the study to start the phonograph up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So Phil's all alone to finish his newspaper off... next chapter I think I'll bring in some more characters as Dan and Phil try to continue what they started on Friday night but in the setting of a packed office and against the backdrop of a professional relationship.   
> Hope you enjoyed this, please leave a comment with anything you particularly liked or disliked. I really enjoy having conversations with you all and getting some discussion going!


	5. Racy Times

After a few more hours, Phil had managed to finish the newspaper and have it sent to the printer. He liked the end of the process most—hundreds of thousands of people would pick up his section of the paper and read it on Monday morning. They’d see Dan’s bit on women and the modern world, they’d learn about ‘teenagers.’

The capacity for change and discussion in society was the reason why Phil pursued journalism in the first place. After the war, he wanted a voice so that he could influence and shape the modern ideals of the country. It started out with him typing a bunch of articles in his bedroom at his parents’ old house. He wanted people to know his personal experience with the war, how it affected him. How it in general ruined the prospects of an entire generation of children. How war held their lives in hand and put their futures on hold while selfish dictators played out their scenarios for domination. He wanted people to know his side so the future leaders of the nation would never let the country slip away.

He sent his work alongside his school diplomas and university degree to every major paper and begged for a chance.

That was almost a decade ago now. Phil always remembered back to his beginning in journalism whenever he finished a newspaper section. It made him feel proud of how far he’d come. In lots of ways, Dan reminded Phil of himself as a young journalist. He wanted to make a difference and open a discussion with society as well. Phil silently promised that he’d help his new friend to do it.

 

Come Monday morning, the papers were already out and the overcast streets of London were buzzing with bowler hats and pinstripes. Men carried umbrellas to keep out the usual morning drizzle, women rushed around in their own distinct style of business attire to get to work too. Phil wouldn’t have seen any women during rush hour if it were even just twenty years ago. Everyone on the underground had a copy of one paper or another: The Times, Telegraph, Mail. Phil saw a few of the Sketch which made his little heart happy.

The man blended in easily in his own pinstripes and hat. He stopped by a café near the office to take up some coffee—he was beginning to form an addiction. Phil walked through the door, greeted by the warm smell of pastries and the buzz of commuters stopping by for a quick breakfast. Amid the chaos, Phil saw a familiar figure; Dan was sitting at a table in a corner behind a newspaper.

Dan looked more put together and rested after a weekend. His hair had been straightened at the front and his suit fitted snuggly. Phil only then noticed how gorgeous he was, with the stripy double breasted jacket shaping his body into a very attractive hourglass. He pulled it off well.

Phil ordered at the counter and let his face light up as he approached his friend.

“Didn’t expect to see you here this morning!” Phil said, pulling a chair around and setting it opposite the man. The journalist let his newspaper fall away to reveal Phil smiling at him and removing his hat. Dan couldn’t deny early morning social interaction with someone as annoyingly happy and beautiful as Lester.

“Well, I didn’t expect you either! But then again I always come here and hide behind a paper so I don’t see much of anyone.” Dan set aside his paper and cleared the table for the other. “I was having a read of the Sketch actually. I like how you managed the layout.” Phil blushed at the compliment.

“Lots of that was you too!” Dan pretended to wave and smile like the Queen accepting praise until Phil swatted his hand down. “Oh stop it, I only meant that you’re welcome to hand in all your work late from now on,” Phil said, giving the other a friendly jab.

“I was thinking about something different for a featured piece this week,” Dan mentioned as he took a bite of a cake on his place.

“Not something too racy I hope…” Phil wasn’t sure how much more different Dan’s work could become considering he’d already written a column encouraging feminism. That had been racy enough.

“Oh you’ll love this then—sexual liberation in a conservative society and also I was thinking about-”

“Wait, what? As if writing anything about sex isn’t racy enough, there’s more?” Phil laughed. The other man let out a huff at him. “What’s to bet you’re going to be writing about the undiscussed public secret of Alan Turing: The war hero common law judged to be a perverted criminal.”

“That’s oddly specific, Mr Lester…” Phil saw a twinkle in Dan’s eyes as he took in a breath to continue. “What I was going to say was this: sexual liberation, slavery, and the homosexuals.” Silence hung thick between the men.

“You… You really shouldn’t write that,” Phil whispered through a pale face, “or even talk about it.”

“Why not? I have a voice, I can talk about it if I want…”

“Dan, you do know it’s illegal, right? Those men get beaten up, thrown in jail, castrated, murdered…” Phil sighed, he chose to cut the list there for his own sanity. Dan bowed his head to escape those cutting, hurtful words.

It was all true, of course.

“People get into trouble over using their voices for things like this. I wouldn’t let you submit it, even though I disagree with the law.”

“Wait, you do?” Dan asked with revived interest and life to his tone.

“Anyone with a mind of their own knows it’s disgusting and wrong to ruin a man’s life just because he’s different.” Phil felt so heavy to say it out load, to even speak about it. “But as you keep saying, we live in a collectivist and conservative society—maybe those teenagers with their new jeans and jackets will change that, but for now…” Phil swallowed as he heard his name called from the counter. He stood up to collect his things and his order. “For now… the people just aren’t ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First work day with other people coming up later tonight! Will Dan be bullied for his racy ideas... probably yes, actually :((


	6. Masks and Conformity

Dan resumed his reading of The Sketch soon after Phil left the café. The breakfast meeting had been rather pleasant until the very end, and now it left a bitter taste in the journalist’s mouth. He had hoped for better, especially as Phil seemed so down to Earth. He supposed he would be handing this week’s work in late again given he’d have to think of a new topic. He didn’t want to see his piece thrown in the ‘discard’ pile alongside the likes of Henry.

The man arrived at work sometime after Phil, who had now locked himself away in his private office. Conversation buzzed on the office floor and it was entirely lit up by reading lamps in every cubicle. A stark contrast to how it was when Dan had last been there. Smoke from Mr Liguori’s cigar wafted about those nearest to his desk as he typed away at something. Being a manager with his own dedicated column in The Sketch and a step above the wretched journalists, P.J. Liguori was entitled to such concessions. He was a nice enough man, one who cared for other people’s worries. He made an excellent manager, always willing to talk people through their writer’s block. He had a certain paternal streak to him. Everyone was very fond of him, especially in the hopes that he’d disclose his real name instead of the initials to them if they were kind. That type of thinking was genius on his part.

“Morning, Dan,” he said as Dan walked past him to reach his own desk. He was bright and shining every day—not necessarily an optimist but someone who lifted others’ spirits. PJ was an older man, but Dan hoped to inherit his uplifting attitude and emotional intelligence by his mid-40s.

“I hope you had a restful weekend.”

“Never too restful, but that’s alright. Being a slave to the workforce was my dream job since I was a child.” Dan did like their small conversations, PJ had some witty remark for every nuisance imaginable. It was light hearted, as far as Dan knew.

The office’s polar opposite would be Mr Chris Kendall. Near the middle of the office, he shoved his typewriter to the side as to sit on his desk with his feet planted on his chair. This new era of equality brought some women to the firm, which Chris seemed to be enjoying as they gathered around to discuss their weekends rather casually. The flirtation surrounding the cocky bastard made Dan wish he had the authority to fire people.

“I’ll take a trip down to Brighton at the weekend. The clubs they got down there—a party every Friday on the beach,” Chris boasted. Dan smirked—he’d lived in London for too long to know that the likes of Chris were not from these parts. His broad and slow northern accent gave him away; Dan immediately knew that the man was from Yorkshire the moment they met. He’d likely never even been to Brighton.

The bastard would be first to leave if he could fire people. He’d certainly keep Louise around though. She was the secretary who was waving to him from her desk near Phil’s closed off area. She was a boisterous young lady but every bit as loyal and trustworthy; someone an introvert like Dan needed. While out with her after work for drinks, he’d accidentally wound up talking about Charlie to her. From what he remembered of that night, which was very little considering she’d gotten him drunk, the implication of their relationship was clear. She never spoke of it again, but neither did she report him to the head office or the police. As far as Dan knew, Louise either didn’t care that he liked men or wasn’t interested in being caught up in a police investigation into Dan’s psychological illness.

“Did you end up getting that work in on time last week Dan?” she asked. They shared a close enough relationship to be frank about Dan’s laziness. In effect, Louise was also doing half of Phil’s job for him—the number of crazy ideas that would have found their way onto Phil’s desk would be tripled if it weren’t for Louise proof-reading Dan’s idiocy.

“Not exactly on time… Mr Lester and I camped for most of the night in the office trying to wrap everything up. We went out to get dinner as well, so it wasn’t all bad.”

“He seems to be in a bit of a mood this morning, try to keep your head down if you can.”

“Oh, well you know me—I don’t need to be forced to stay away from other humans,” Dan joked with very little humour in his tone. The two returned to their separate desks to start the day. Dan huffed—it wouldn’t be long before he was ripping his hair out for a new idea. He knew he should have started the week with something in mind, but technically he had done his homework. It couldn’t be helped that Phil didn’t approve of what he’d come up with.

It seemed Chris was done chatting up the girls, who returned to their posts as well.

“Glad we’ve got them girls in, eh? Would be nice to go for a dance with one… any birds you got in your sights, Danny boy?” he asked. Dan gritted his teeth.

“No, no birds for me unfortunately…” And nor would there ever be.

“Better get onto it, all the good ones will be taken. You and me, we’re getting on.” Dan tried to fake a smirk or retort that he was in fact still quite young, even if Chris was a decrepit fart. But he’d rather not have to put PJ in an awkward situation as a manager by having to reprimand him for such chat back. Dan knew he disliked Chris as much as anyone, but there were rules.

“I think I like the bachelor life just fine thanks,” Dan said. He prayed that it’d be enough to get the other man off his back.

“Suit yourself, Danny. More for me!”

“Yeah, and we know you need the numbers…” Dan whispered. Chris didn’t seem to have heard as he drifted back towards the giggling female secretaries and journalists in his area of the floor. He wondered where Chris’ attitude came from.

“I’ve never met his parents, but my guess is it starts there,” Louise said, causing Dan to jump out of his chair at the surprise. “Here, Phil wants you to have these to get started this week.”

Louise dropped the files, old articles and social commentaries mostly about feminism and sexual liberation movements, before walking away. A sticky note on the top, from Phil, was there too.

_Sexual liberation isn’t the worst idea, just maybe forget about the homosexuals. –P_

Dan grinned at the note, it was nice to think that someone so superior to himself was looking out for him. Although he had to admit, it cut a bit deep to be told to “forget” about the homosexuals. It was the fleshiest part of Dan’s chosen topic, he wasn’t so much interested in the sexual liberation bit. Then again, Dan considered it tricky given he probably was one. He’d never forget that part of him, the memories of various boys and men were so imbedded into his mind after all these years.

Charlie had been Dan’s first (and so far only) love. It shouldn’t surprise him that 14 years on, Dan still thought about Charlie frequently. He never had any closure surrounding that relationship. In some recess in his brain, Dan was still holding out for the day when Charlie would walk through the door and hold Dan in his arms again. Of course he knew it would never come. After all, Charlie went to war but he didn’t come back.


	7. Behind The Veil

**June, 1944**

Dan and Charlie spent the day in the former’s dingy London flat. Charlie dressed in the uniform he’d been given at a ground forces recruitment office. So far, he’d been taught how to fire a gun and had seen some plans for the Normandy invasion. He was sure that some of the senior officers suspected he was underage, but no one had said anything about it so far. It was pleasing at least that after joining up, Charlie now had a place to stay instead of either camping out in Dan’s bedroom or wandering the streets during the day.

The walls of the living room closed in on the two and the hot summer air boiled them. Charlie thought of France—it would be cooler there, and maybe he’d like seeing a place outside England. He’d never really left London before.

It had to be better than hanging around the dirty city at any rate. Dan’s family flat was in such disrepair with pipes bursting and ceiling plaster constantly peeling away—he didn’t want to be a burden on him when his father was obviously struggling like everyone else to make ends meet during wartime.

“Why did you do it?” Dan asked as they sat on one of the few chairs the small family had.

“I couldn’t keep sneaking into your dad’s flat forever, Dan. I needed somewhere to go, and plenty boys get into the army at 15. It won’t be so bad, I’ll get to go to another country, I’ll get to see France!” Charlie wasn’t sure whether he told himself these things for Dan’s sake or his own. Whatever it was, it kept him sane. “We’ll march across France and no one will stop us, and after we’ve won I’ll come back and then I’ll be your hero for real.”

“Are… are you scared?” The question hit Charlie right in his heart. He posed it so innocently, as if unaware of how horrifying war would be. Charlie mustered such strength to smile at his love.

“No,” he whispered, “no, of course not.” The older boy wrapped his arms around Dan, sighing as he closed his eyes to keep from crying. He was terrified, his stomach dropped every time he thought of it. The distant memory of shells demolishing London came back to him when he wondered what the front would be like. The blaring sound of bullets whizzing past and the devastation of bombs whirring through the air struck fear into him even though he’d never heard such sounds in his life. He ached with the uncertainty of whether he’d ever get this moment with Dan again after today. He tried to commit every aspect of Dan’s face to his memory. His beautiful curly brown hair, his gorgeous eyes… his pale skin. He was so afraid that he’d forget a single detail.

“I’ll worry about you Char, and I’ll miss you every day you’re gone…” Dan said, squeezing him into another hug.

“I’ll miss you too, but you’ll be safe here. Besides, I got a present for you.” Dan’s eyes lit up and Charlie extracted himself from their tangled limbs to pull a dull piece of paper out of his pocket. He gave it to Dan with a weak smile on his lips. The boy’s heart throbbed—Charlie had gotten him a very faint photograph of the two of them from a few years ago. Dan looked into it and saw two much younger and less troubled boys sharing some biscuits while sitting on the curb of a blown out street. He remembered that day; Charlie brought his dad’s old camera and they spent the last few pieces of film on photos of themselves. Charlie hadn’t batted an eyelid when Dan asked him if he really wanted to use up the last of the film on silly pictures of them.

“I’ve got one for myself as well, I want to keep it on me and when I look at it, I can think of you,” Charlie said. He pulled his head up to meet Dan’s eyes. The boy was crying, his eyes so red it looked like he’d gotten an itch that wouldn’t relent.

“I don’t want to let you go, I can’t do it Char…” The older boy kissed Dan’s cheek and hugged his head into his chest. He didn’t want to go either.

“I’ll be back before you know it… Just have faith. You’ll see, I’ll be here to celebrate the end with you and it’ll be like I never left. I’ll be fine, it’s not like people don’t come back from these things. We just need to believe in our cause and that’ll be enough.”

“You can’t promise that, you can’t!” Dan wailed. Charlie knew in his heart that he couldn’t make that promise. He hoped he would see Dan again. His heart hung on the very thin thread that he’d get to come back. It would all be for nothing if he couldn’t see Dan again.

 

Of course when the allies launched the invasion of Normandy, a poor terrified boy was amid their ranks, running with the weight of a full kit and helmet across the beach. Smoke from the hills of the French coastline formed towers scorching the skies and the channel threw salty water against Charlie’s feet as he left the troop carrier. Artillery blasted sand and mud from the shoreline all around with deafening booms. Bullets whizzed past the boy’s ears as he saw several companions shot down beside him. They were alive and running up the beach one moment. The next, a bullet would hit them in the leg and they’d tripped over and fall to their ghastly demise.

Everything felt slow as a bullet hit Charlie in his thigh and the searing pain tore him to the ground. His leg seized up and he screamed. He writhed in pain as his body hit the wet sand. The clamminess of it drained the warmth from his body and blood flowed onto the beach like water from a pitcher. He screamed in agony and sheer disbelief. Never in his dreams did he think his future had this in store for him. He felt tears prickle his face as soldiers ran past him, not caring that he needed their help. He didn’t even have time to pull that picture out of his breast pocket—a shell landed next to him in the water and blew his pain into smithereens as shrapnel ripped into his chest and pulled his arms clean off his torso.

He felt no pain after that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of boys at age 14 or older did go off to war--they'd lie about their age and the recruiters wouldn't care because they always needed more soldiers. Of course they thought it was glorious battle and were not prepared for the destruction and traumatic experiences. There are interviews on YouTube of men who signed up underaged, went to war, and came back. It's truly disturbing because they got to the battlefield and it wasn't at all what they expected.
> 
> Charlie's thinking is that joining the army will provide himself a place to go given that he's essentially homeless. Whether he thinks that war is just a fun party and that he'll be back before christmas (which many boys thought it was) or he knows that he's likely not to return is up to you. Personally for me, I believe he understands the risks but severely underestimates what war will be like. I wrote him at the invasion of Normandy, known as D-Day.
> 
> I looked at some photos to get an idea of what the invasion may have been like:   
> https://www.dday.org/overview/  
> https://www.vanityfair.com/culture/2014/06/photographer-robert-capa-d-day


	8. Bugger!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earth Angel for Phil's record player!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJcGi4-n_Yw

Over the week, Dan received a few more notes from his friendly boss. Louise would visit him at his desk amid the ringing telephones and typists bashing away to deliver them. It was a Tuesday afternoon when the next one came; Dan was tired and the week was only just beginning. He’d loosened his tie and slouched over his desk to read another source article for his writing. He forced himself to read by holding up his head by the hairs.

“Another one from Mr Lester. He says I shouldn’t read messages if they’re not for me but you know how I am…” Louise said, passing Dan the note. The man composed himself and when he sat upright, his hair looked like that of a clown. “I think you might be growing on him a bit.” She chuckled at his appearance and walked back to her post.

_Meet me in my office after work to discuss your project? – P_

Dan smiled and placed the note on the stack of reading he still had to do. Some articles about the treatment of Alan Turing for his own interest, but mostly things to do with the revival of feminism. He couldn’t say he looked forward to the reading, but he was able to continue without ripping his hair out.

The evening soon came and the office emptied out, little by little.

“There’s got to be more to life than this,” Margaret said as she closed the lid on her typewriter to leave for the night.

“Come out to the pub with me and the boys and we’ll see if you’re right!” Chris yelled from across the room, earning some laughs from the other men. Margaret adjusted her hair and smiled at him before flipping him off.

“If I’m going out with the likes of you then I must be a hyena!” The other men poked fun at Chris’ embarrassment and scoffed at Margaret’s sassy empowerment as she waved goodbye. “Dream on, Kendall.”

Dan tried to suppress his own amusement to continue reading.

“Come off it, Howell, you’re not doing any better with ‘em…” Chris muttered.

“Then again, I’m not really trying am I?” Louise came by to bid Dan goodnight and scolded him for encouraging the locker room chatter. All in good fun.

“Boys…” Louise sighed, grabbing her coat from a hook near the door and leaving.

Soon, the office was empty. Most of the lights were turned off, save for his own desk lamp and the light spilling out of Phil’s enclosed office space in the corner of the room. He supposed that he could go see him soon.

Dan focused on getting through an interview transcript, something about the penalty for same-sex activities.

  * _What do you make of the movement to decriminalise homosexuality?_



_It’s quite simply preposterous, really. The act of contact between two members of the same sex is a violation of nature itself, and this is a fact. 93% of Britons equate homosexual tendencies to mental illness. The disgusting and abhorrent practice must be quelled in the majority of people’s minds._

  * _What is currently the standard outcome for a man convicted of “gross indecency?”_



_Well, it’s simple. The wretched individual is rooted out from our society for incarceration and correction. If the risk of allowing him to integrate back into society is judged hazardous, a chemical castration is recommended. This has been standard since Roman times._

  * _What do you think is the biggest risk facing British people today, should this movement gather momentum?_



_Laws condemning homosexuality have guided mankind since the founding of England as a single nation over 1000 years ago. It has prevented mass assaults of many men and young boys across the country, the movement to decriminalise it is opposed to the national interest. The government must fulfil its promise as one elected by the majority to ensure that legislation does not permit-----’_

Dan didn’t know when he’d stopped reading, all he knew was that he didn’t remember a single word. He scrunched up the paper and threw it over the other side of the room. Someone else could put it in the rubbish.

It was getting onto half five, he panicked at missing his meeting and looked up at Phil’s office to see if he’d left. He breathed out again when he saw the light still on. As he approached the door to the office, he heard not one but two voices. Some music as well. One voice belonged to Phil, the other he wasn’t sure. It was deep, too deep to be a woman’s. They were barely audible through walls.

**_Earth Angel, Earth Angel,_ **

Dan stepped away from the door to peer in through the glass window overlooking the rest of the office floor. The light blinded him and he saw a silhouette, Phil grabbing at another person, pulling them towards him by a piece of fabric extending from their neck.

**_Will you be mine?_ **

He saw a set of loops fall from the silhouette’s shoulders and then be dragged over to where Phil’s desk would have been.

**_My darling dear,_ **

Dan felt heat rising to his face and panic rush through him.

**_Love you all the time._ **

Dan covered his mouth and choked himself with his fist to keep from hyperventilating as he backed away. He stepped backwards straight against Louise’s desk; pencils and sharpeners clanging together and his arm smashing into the lever on her typewriter. The noise coming from Phil’s office got louder; two people were in there doing God knows what and Dan shouldn’t be there witnessing any part of it.

**_I’m just a fool,_ **

The desk wobbled when Dan lost his balance and his weight fell on it, spilling all the stationary onto the wooden office floors. Dan looked over to the typewriter which threatened to fall off the end of the desk as it began to tip. He jumped back and push the desk back down to stop it tipping. Too late.

The machine crashed to the floor and Dan winced at the ear shattering noise of the keys being mashed against the carbon roll.

**_A fool in love with y-_ **

The noises from Phil’s office stopped.

Whispers.

“You said no one was here…”

“I checked, okay, and no one _was_ here!”

“Shut up, shush.”

The door to the office folded open. By then Dan had already gathered his cowardice, his hat, and his coat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;))
> 
> What's Philip done, and with whom?  
> Should Dan talk about it or suppress the memory and pretend it didn't happen?  
> How will Dan survive overtime on Friday?


	9. The Great Pretenders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phil's record player:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FyM8NVl4yBY&list=RDFyM8NVl4yBY
> 
> (I cut out the second verse and a bit of the other parts, I believe the song is actually about a man losing his wife and putting on a facade and escaping to an imaginary universe to make it easier but eh if the boot fits)

The memory of the previous night plagued Dan’s mind. The images of Phil and the nameless silhouette grabbing at each other’s clothes and sighing into their kisses were fresh. So, upon waking up to his alarm and throwing the damn thing across the room, all Dan could do was curl up into his pillow and scream at the prospect of going back to work.

For a time he’d loved the morning rush; he’d found a friend in Phil and they had similar ideas and goals in journalism. Progressives were hard to find at their ages, most people were still bogged down in wartime memories and grief over 10 years on. God knew that Dan wasn’t over his own.

Today he wanted to avoid the morning rush, curl up in bed, and die. But such luxuries aren’t an option for Englishmen. No one curled up in bed during the war. And they certainly didn’t scream and cry about their problems. “I am glad we have been bombed. Now we can look the East End in the eye.” That was the general attitude. Keep calm and carry on.

He had already pushed through the wretched crowds on the dreary Wednesday morning to get to work and a drizzle of rain added insult. His trench coat and hat were clammy and wet but his business attire, a boring suit and tie, remained untouched when he entered the coffee shop near work.

As Dan opened the café door, the warm air brushed against his face and cheerful chatter filled his ears from the many customers. The bell on the door gave a homely ring. The appeal was quashed when Phil caught sight of Dan and waved with a smile on his face. Dan didn’t keep calm and carry on, he felt about to vomit.

“Dan! I thought I might run into you again, I got our table from last time and an extra chair.” Phil was blushing at how friendly he must have come across, meanwhile Dan pulled himself back from turning green.

“Uhm, okay,” Dan mumbled, looking at his shoes. “I’ll just go order.” He scurried off to the counter where he could lick his wounds.

The images of Phil with the stranger still hadn’t gone away by the time Dan finished his coffee and blabbered on about how late he was going to be. Those blue eyes looked so innocent but the mind behind them was not. Whenever they locked eyes, Dan felt a pit in his stomach. Phil knew. That stupid smile shouted in his face that he knew and was torturing Dan with the burdensome information. The journalist squirmed out of his seat, forcing an apology out of his mouth while he collected his hat and coat to get to the office.

                                                                                                ~*~

“Morning,” PJ said, looking up from his desk when Dan entered the office floor and hung up his coat. PJ smiled with his usual joy and optimism apparent. Was PJ aware of what happened last night? Was he playing along or just ignorant? “Something on your mind?” Okay, PJ definitely knew.

“No, I umm… just worried I was late.” Dan could feel the embarrassment on his face, he wasn’t a good liar. “Yeah, late.”

“Well you can’t be too late, Chris isn’t here yet…” Dan felt a surge of heat on his face again. PJ knew he was lying, knew there was something he was hiding. Dan sensed the suspicion in his voice. PJ smiled again when Dan didn’t respond. It wasn’t the best excuse, there was hardly anyone else in the office.

“Damn you!” a woman screamed. Blond curly hair jumped up from behind a desk near Phil’s enclave. Louise.

“What’s happened?” PJ asked, walking over to the crime scene. Dan looked on as if he were a ghost.

“My typewriter fell off my desk and broke, and my pens and pencils are all over the floor. The stupid thing left a huge scratch on the floor too…” Louise pulled at her hair, looking around for any clue as to how the hell it happened. Then PJ looked to Dan, and the man’s throat closed up in guilt.

“You don’t know anything about this, do you?” PJ asked.

“Yes. I mean… No…” Dan sighed at how suspicious it must have looked. “Why would I?”

“Oh it’s just you said you were working late last night, we thought you might have seen if something happened.” Dan sighed, the pressure leaving him for a moment.

Did they know what Phil was up to last night? Dan juggled the question in his mind. PJ asked Dan whether he knew about the incident with Louise’s desk. But why would he ask if he knew Dan was responsible? Did he want to give him a chance to deny it? Maybe PJ didn’t know, maybe Dan was being paranoid. But still, it made him feel sick. He took a breath as he came to the conclusion that Louise was none the wiser. That much had to be true.

“It is what it is, I guess,” Louise sighed.

 

Phil locked himself away in his office when he arrived. Louise was unavailable to carry out any secretarial duties. Phil nodded his head when she told him what happened, but on the inside he too was screaming.

“I’m sorry, I’ll have to find some more ribbon and swap it out for my old one.”

“Do you know how it happened?” Phil asked. His mind was on fire with the sure knowledge that she had been there last night. She was the one to make the loud noise outside his office and alert him to the presence of another. She’d seen him and-

“No, I wasn’t there. It must have been late after we’d all left…”

Phil made sure not to come out of his office for the rest of the day. Dan felt saddened but also relieved when no notes were delivered to his desk. He pushed himself into his work to try to distract himself.

PJ was particularly concerned about Dan; he was oddly consumed and not at all talkative. At least compared to Chris, who babbled away with some of the girls as usual.

“I can’t wait to get out of newspapers, you know? To actually do something and go places. Like America, I want to see it one day and I’m gonna…” The girls didn’t look vaguely interested but he talked on. Dan never participated in the conversations, Chris was always excited to do something that wasn’t work related. All his goals involved becoming rich and “getting away” from England. “It’s just so boring some days…” he carried on.

PJ looked at Dan’s face, and he noted how absent the man was as he started writing what could only be his article for the week.

“What’re you doing for this week?” PJ asked.

“Nothing fancy, I’ve been reading about liberation so I thought I’d start there.”

“What kind of liberation?” PJ adjusted in his desk chair to face Dan. Everything felt more personal and Dan tensed up.

“Well… liberation of sexuality?” The colour drained from PJ’s face but instead of reprimanding the young journalist, he sighed and stood to lead Dan into a meeting room.

Away from Chris’ loud conversations and incessant complaining, PJ closed the door and motioned to sit on a leather couch in the centre of the wood panelled room. The room blocked out the world beyond, and Dan became too aware that he was trapped.

“That’s a dangerous topic, Dan. Why did you choose it?” The journalist felt under fire, terrified. The room transformed into a torture chamber.

“I just thought that…” Dan didn’t know what to say, how to explain without incriminating himself. Tears pressed against his eyeballs and he battled to stop them falling. Englishmen didn’t cry, they kept calm and carried on. Englishmen never cried during the war, and they wouldn’t start now. But he was so tired.

“Dan…” PJ moved closer on the couch and rest his hand on the man’s shoulder. Dan brought his hands up to his face and cried into them. The fear, the paranoia, all leaked out of his eyes.

                                                                                                ~*~

“Mr Lester!” Louise called out, rapping on the door. She sighed, frustrated as he hadn’t shown his face all day. Music seeped out from the room, but maybe he couldn’t hear her. Chris was the only other person nearby, and she didn’t want to ask him for help with a write up. He was too busy chatting up the girls as usual while on break. She heard him mention that his dream was to quit his job and go to America and become a railway baron. She chuckled at the ridiculous dream, but frowned afterwards as it meant she was no closer to finishing her work.

**_Oh yes, I’m the great pretender,_ **

Phil tapped his foot in time with the music, less afraid with the blinds drawn to cover all the glass walls. He wasn’t careful. He should have pulled them down the previous night, but the excitement of having them up fuelled him.

**_Pretending I’m doing well._ **

Someone knew, someone had seen. Did he care? The excitement was never like that when it’d been with women.

**_My need is such I pretend too much,_ **

Phil had done absolutely no work all day. He’d sat in his chair and listened to this record on repeat. The yelling from the door, Louise’s voice, was barely audible over the music. Phil closed his eyes and blocked his shame and distress with the music.

**_I’m lonely but no one can tell._ **

The music filled the room with longing, Phil wished he could go back in time and kiss him again… this time with the blinds shut. He wasn’t sure what kissing a man meant. It felt dangerous, it felt good.

**_Oh yes, I’m the great pretender,_ **

Of course it was illegal, of course he shouldn’t be doing it in the office. Phil dropped his head knowing that every day from now would be spent peering over his shoulder for whoever he blindly trusted his secret to. Whoever was there in the office and saw what happened.

**_Just laughing and gay like a clown._ **

Phil felt more powerless and empty than ever. Someone out there knew a secret of his, one that could land him unemployed and a criminal.

**_I seem to be what I’m not, you see,_ **

Was it Louise? He didn’t know. He’d missed his meeting with Dan, he was planning to chat to him about other ideas for his article but he completely forgot. Was Dan still at the office? Did he see the encounter unfold? It must have been nearly sundown by then, he would have gone home. Had any of it been remotely worth it? The doubt, the fear; was it worth the incredible feeling of another man?

**_I’m wearing my heart like a crown._ **

“LESTER FOR GOD’S SAKE OPEN THE DOOR!” The music soon stopped.

                                                                                                ~*~

“Dan, please can we just talk about it?” PJ asked. They’d been in the meeting room for nearly half an hour, the younger man had no chance of calming down. The tears still streamed down his face.

“No, we don’t- I’m an Englishman, I’m not weak. We don’t cry.”

“Shush, no one’s saying you’re weak.” The concern in PJ’s eyes made Dan so desperate to tell him everything. But he couldn’t, even if he were able to say the words, they’d get caught in his throat. He shook his head and pursed his lips together.

“If I tell you, you’ll be horrified and you’ll hate me. God knows I do…” Dan said through his puffed up face.

“Dan are you…” PJ paused, looking at Dan’s horrified expression. The poor, tortured boy. “Are you… one of… them?”

Dan’s hair was so messy, his shirt was soaked in tears, his eyes were red. What wasn’t messy was his response. He felt so tired, so alone after all these years. No one since Charlie really knew how far his mental illness went. Dan nodded at the question, nodded repeatedly. He couldn’t say the words.

“Should I hand in my notice?” Dan asked. The fatigue took hold, he didn’t care anymore. The secret was out. All that was left was fear of the future. He grabbed at PJ’s shirt and whispered, “Are you going to report me?”

PJ stared at Dan. He didn’t blink, didn’t move. PJ opened his mouth but didn’t speak.

“Help me,” Dan whispered. “Help…”

They sat in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What should PJ do? Will he keep Dan's secret or report him to the police...  
> I wanted to make both boys go a bit paranoid about what the other may know about their personal lives. Of course you guys know both sides of what's going on (kinda, there are bits to be told yet ie who Phil's mystery visitor is) Hopefully that adds to the suspense -- will everything be alright in the end? Maybe but maybe not!
> 
> I really liked the song I put with this chapter, really happy I found it! The lyrics are just perfect. Idk why but I think doo-wop is all soppy romance music, which I didn't think about when I decided to base a work around it but there you go, some things are just meant to be. I'm really enjoying it so far! Leave a comment telling me how you're finding it, responses guaranteed :)


	10. Since I Fell for You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for you, Potato_Activist ! Happy Christmas and happy holidays!
> 
> \-- Since I Fell for You -- https://youtu.be/LPQnIMjOL14?t=21s  
> It's a different style of music this time, a bit older -- lyrics were written in 1945. I chose this because I wanted Phil to retreat back to a more familiar time for him, which would be before some of this crazy social change. Maybe to a time when he felt less burdened and lonely ;)

“Help me,” Dan whispered. “Help…”

They sat in silence.

The memory would never stop feeling like a fresh open wound. PJ hadn’t said anything in the end, all he did was reach out and hold the distraught boy’s hand. He understood on some level what it was like to feel like an outsider.

PJ had never told anyone about why he came to London in the first place. They assumed he had Italian parents given his name, but not more than that.

“I know what it feels like. Most people in this country won’t understand, but I do.” Dan had pulled his head from crying into his elbow.

“No you don’t, no one understands,” Dan said. “Don’t come near me, I’m ill. I’m diseased. You’ll catch it if you touch my skin.” But PJ didn’t stop holding his hand. He knew better than what Dan believed about his own kind.

“I didn’t speak a word of English when I came here.” Dan looked up at the older man, but despite his confusion PJ talked on while looking up at the ceiling. Reflecting. “My parents came to Britain during The Great War. I know what it’s like to be an outsider… the bullying made me into one. I couldn’t even speak English, but even then I knew they hated me—I may as well have been Mussolini.” PJ chuckled at the cruel children. But the memories felt closer than 35 years ago.

Dan felt a newfound respect for PJ; he was the kindest gentleman he knew. The malice of children and adults alike bothered Dan, especially when directed to a being who only meant to smile. With Dan captured in awe, PJ smiled and continued.

“The limey bastards would chase me down the street with their chains, shouting things like ‘death to the wog.’ The worst was when they’d drag me behind a shed at school and beat me with the strap. The teachers didn’t seem to care…” PJ shook his head to purge himself of lingering fear. His optimism fractured by that point. He’d take a day or two to repair it.

"PJ, I-" 

"Never mind, the bigger worry was working and getting money. Neither of my parents speak English, someone had to go to the factories. The people there were nicer, maybe it was because I was a 12 year old when I started." PJ thought back to them fondly, they never hurled insults.

“Don’t you despise me though? Don’t you hate me?” Dan asked. He saw someone vulnerable in PJ, someone like him. He hoped with bated breath that he wouldn’t be beaten with a strap for trusting the observation.

“Dan, I could never…” PJ took a breath; perhaps he’d take three days to repair. “I could never despise you. I have no idea how or why a man can love other men, but I don’t hate you because of it.” Dan sighed and relaxed into the couch. PJ felt his hand go loose in his own. It wasn’t pure understanding, but he couldn’t ask for more. “Too many boys have stared at me with rosy cheeks in my lifetime for you to be too different.” PJ laughed and Dan felt lighter for the first time that week.

 

                                                                                                ~*~

 

Phil snuck out of his office long after everyone had already left. Being Wednesday, he knew everyone would be gone by five at the latest. He didn’t call his beau back to his office again like they’d planned. He knew his heart wouldn’t be in it. Louise got her typewriter fixed and would be back on track, he was surprised that he saw nothing of Dan all day. He found it odd.

Phil arrived at his grimy flat—one bedroom, a tiny bathroom, and living room plus kitchen packed into a single room. A window pane near the radiator was broken, he’d need to get that replaced before it got too cold. The single lightbulb attracted some moths when he flicked the switch. He almost wished he hadn’t; it revealed some of the muck staining the sink and fridge.

The man groaned and started on a stir fry. A boring home life was in many ways offset by the danger of the arrangement he found with his co-worker, the one needed to be more careful with. For the first time he felt less decrepit and as if he were starting life anew. Transported right back to the beginning. He wasn’t a social pariah still unengaged. He was just Phil. Suddenly the stir fry became very alluring.

 

                                                                                                ~*~

 

It was Friday by the time the next note from Phil found itself on Dan’s desk.

_Hand in your shit on time please :)_ _–P_

Dan sniggered at it. The condescending smiley felt personal and just _Phil_. Over the past few days, PJ made more of an effort to connect with Dan. It made him happier to know that his secret was safe with someone. PJ still didn’t know about what he’d seen in Phil’s office, but that burden was for another time.

Of course, it would be sweeter if he had someone in front of him to share even more than just his secret. His heart ached for Charlie more than usual because of that need. The other men he’d seen over the years would spend the night with Dan and then run back to their girlfriends or wives, likely to forget all about him. Only one had ever seen him a second time.

“Do you reckon you’ll make the deadline? I can talk to Phil for you if you don’t think you can…” PJ offered. Dan didn’t want pity or to be treated differently; thankfully PJ hadn’t changed much about his approach so it wasn’t a problem. Dan still felt bad anyway, so shook his head and continued writing.

In the end, he decided to write about technological progress. It bored him, but that wasn’t the point. He shoved his aspirations aside for his own mental sanity.

 

By the end of the day, Chris finally got sick of bragging about his weekend plans to the girls. Margaret in her usual sassy fashion gave him a forearm jerk in return. Dan laughed on with the other girls when he saw. His article still needed reading over, thankfully Louise was happy to provide a second voice on it.

“I like what you’re saying about these new microwave ovens. Maybe think about how it can help working people. Tell them why it’s different to their standard conventionals. I’d want to know why I should care about a new oven that costs 250 quid if I’ve already got one.” Dan grated his teeth knowing that he’d be stuck in overtime again.

He still had his head down by the time Chris “left for the beach.” PJ and Louise soon followed.

Phil paced about his office, too nervous to look outside and ask Dan for his work. Something was off with him, he didn’t know what. He considered just talking to Dan or asking him straight out.

_That wouldn’t work, we’re not American. You can’t just say it like that._

By half six, Phil decided he really needed the article. He didn’t want to have to have a microwave meal, the stir fry lost its appeal. He peeked his head out so he could see the back of Dan’s head, bowed down over a typewriter.

“Dan, is that going to be done soon?” The man jolted upright and tensed every muscle in his body.

“Uhm, in a minute.”

“Can you tell me how long it’ll actually be? I wanna know if I’m going home tonight.”

“17.5 minutes. I don’t know.”

“Alright…” Phil went back into his office. He deflated his confident façade and put a record on. He didn’t want to wallow in silence.

**_… You made me leave my happy home._ **

The voice coming from the phonograph was an older one, it echoed around the office and spilled beyond the walls where Dan could hear it.

**_You took my love, and now you’ve gone,_ **

The distraction of the lyrics was enough to make Dan want to drown in them. He didn’t understand why Phil had to pick such soppy music, to dig knives into his old wounds.

**_Since I fell for you…_ **

His article didn’t have to be perfect, in fact, Dan finished it with a closing statement before he’d written his intended third paragraph. That was enough, he didn’t care.

**_My life has been such misery and pain._ **

Dan marched into Phil’s office without knocking and thrust the papers fresh off his typewriter into his hands.

**_I guess I’ll never be the same,_ **

“Quicker than I’d thought you be, thanks Dan.” The journalist only nodded and tried to close his ears. The sounds jabbed at him to open them up, but he couldn’t.

**_Since I fell for you…_ **

“Well that’s it, I’ll see you on Monday,” Dan said, before he turned on his heel to get his coat and leave this torture chamber.

**_Well it’s too bad, and it’s too sad,_ **

Because he really was too sad.

**_That I’m in love with you…_ **

On the way out, Dan had to wipe at his eyes and rub his forehead to keep the images of a sweet young boy from his mind. He needed to let go, that’s all he thought as he felt his eyes tear up.

Phil remained behind to finish editing the complete issue of the paper on his own. It was lonely, not a sound on the office floor except for those sad words carved into the record.

**_When you love me, and then you snub me._ **

**_But what can I do, I’m still in love with you._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope you enjoyed that! What did you think of PJ's reveal? I wanted to make him into a real character with a story and role to play. I based his memories on my mother's ones from the school yard in the late 60s. The chains and whips part is based off her true stories (although she tells me she broke a kid's nose, but obviously PJ is too nice for that...) All the details about not understanding insults + English are stolen from her stories too.  
> Phil still doesn't know who saw him... I like to think the music he listens to in this chapter reflect on both his feelings and Dan's.
> 
> I guess my real goal with this fic is to show you guys how much society has improved since the 50s, even though their top 100 chart music is definitely better than ours and makes you want to believe that the 50s were a "simpler, better era." Not so rosy if you're anything but a cis straight white man on above average wage with a wife and three kids!


	11. Iron Hoof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap:  
> After Dan catches Phil late in the office doing something indecent with an unknown man, the awkward wedge driving the two apart pushes him further and further towards coming clean to Phil. After an intense conversation with PJ triggers an emotional breakdown where Dan tells the truth about his sexuality and fears being reported to the police, he isn't sure how to broach the subject of his own sexuality and motivations for pursuing dangerous topics in his journalism. As Christmas approaches, Dan prepares to spend it alone once again.

The London streets collected some ice and an unhealthy amount of fog overnight, as was usual for the end of December. Luckily, Christmas fell on the weekend which gave everyone some time off to celebrate. Dan wasn’t bothered that he’d go back to the office on the Monday after Christmas to work out the rest of the year. He’d get another three days off at New Year’s anyway.

Christmas hailed in a sad occasion for Dan. The high spirits of those around him only put his teeth more on edge, it was infuriating to see other people happy while he spent the holiday alone. He didn’t have any close family left these days, and he doubted he would ever make his own. The cold weather bit at his skin particularly hard at the thought. He just didn’t want to spend another year alone.

When Dan arrived home from work at his own dingy flat, he considered telephoning Phil and asking what he’d be up to for Christmas. He laughed and then frowned at his thoughtlessness. Phil probably had a family to visit and spend time with, even if Dan were past what he’d witnessed in the office the other week. He couldn’t imagine Christmas with Chris so that thought left his mind immediately. He owed PJ far too much already, he was out too.

Dan smirked a bit, he did have one friend on the outside of all of this. Louise. But would she really want to spend it with a sad loner? Probably not.

 

The dial swung around the telephone numbers, and soon Dan was through to the London exchange. He managed to blurt out half a conversation to the switchboard operator and soon enough, a dreary “Hullo?” came through.

“Um, hi Louise. It’s Dan.” Dan’s breath hitched. What did he even plan to say to her?

“Dan? It’s late, what’s going on?” She’d woken up from a slumber on the couch only a few minutes before to her ringing telephone; she was still rubbing her eyes to wake up. “Do I need to come in or something?”

 “No, no, nothing like that. I just wondered… or rather…”

“You wondered…”

“Look, I just wanted to wish you a happy Christmas.”

“Thanks Dan and happy Christmas to you too but... it’s almost half ten. Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m okay I guess... Sorry, I’m really sorry, I know it’s late. Don’t worry about it, forget I called. This was a mistake.” Dan began to sweat and it took everything in him not to rip out the lead.

“Dan just wait a moment-"

The receiver landed on the hook and he was sure the telephone operator was laughing at him to her friends after she’d heard the entire conversation. Great. Dan wasn’t interested in a cringe attack, so he decided to let sleep take him and forget all about what today was and how lonely it actually would be.

 ~*~

**Christmas Eve, 1944**

_Everyone knew the end of the war would be coming. The Normandy invasion was a success, at least that’s what the newspapers had said earlier in the year. The Allied invasion of Sicily cut the Axis off from the Mediterranean and Italy was ready to surrender and defect. It wouldn’t be long before the tanks stormed Berlin. Yet Dan couldn’t bear to think of the tens of thousands of men that probably died on those fronts; war was never a “success” to him and the end result never justified the means. The Axis forces retreated to Paris and pulled out of Italy, but at what cost?_

_He hadn’t heard from Charlie since a few days after he left. It was almost six months ago. He’d gotten two letters from him, one on the day he left and another was posted from the troop carrier. He read them most nights to keep him warm when the heating conked out; Dan’s father couldn’t afford the extra coal for the fireplace when their ration coupons were already used up on food._

_It didn’t matter that the letters were old, the others probably got lost in the post. Or that was what Dan told himself every time he thought about why his letters weren’t getting any responses._

_Dan’s father came home having elected to work on Christmas Eve to earn some extra money. In that time, Dan stayed home and tried to be as useful as he could—cleaning the flat and cooking what food they did have left for dinner._

_“Wouldn’t ‘ave thought you’d do all this before the war without being asked, huh?” Dan’s father said while they sat down to eat._

_“No, prolly not. Desperate times, desperate measures… it changes people I guess…” Dan poked his food around the plate._

_“Whad ‘appened to that Charlie boy? You ‘nd ‘im used to see ‘nd ‘ear a lot from each other.” Dan knew his father was just trying to engage and make conversation, but it didn’t hurt any less. His dad was a product of his generation; the Edwardians were not sentimental about anything._

_“I don’t know, I wrote to him for Christmas but there must be a problem with getting the mail out there.” Dan tried to keep himself from sounding hurt. He wanted to be strong in front of his dad, show the Nazis that they couldn’t take away his hope even if everyone he loved vanished from his life._

_“Well, that can’t be ‘elped. Even if you could post to ‘im, ‘ow would you know whad address to give? Who knows where ‘is regiment got stationed after all that nastiness.” His father was sentimental enough to know his words weren’t helping, Dan seemed on the edge of tears. He leaned over the table to put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t feel too badly son, the war’ll be over before next Christmas ‘nd all them poor boys’ll come ‘ome where they belong.”_

_“You really think so?” Dan looked up and saw a smile on his dad’s face. Even though he had no other family after him, he felt less alone._

_“I know so.”_

~*~

That all felt so long ago. Dan had to remind himself that being 14 years ago, it _was_ so long ago. It took another six months for that young boy in his memories to learn the truth about Charlie’s fate. Looking back on it, Dan wasn’t sure why he held out hope for his survival—the clues were all around him that Charlie was dead. For that reason, Dan couldn’t see a scrap of resemblance between himself and the boy in that memory. It was a sad thought to keep Dan awake for most of the night.

Charlie’s death woke him up from the dream he’d been living, if one could call it that. It forced the reality of the effects of the war into his mind and made him understand the pain of everyone who lost even a single loved one. As it happened, he came to understand the grief the entire country bore all along. Thinking back to it now, that was the point where Dan lost his innocence and saw the world as it truly was—as horrible and unforgiving place where the people who deserve everything get shafted and left with nothing.

And now, 14 years on, he didn’t believe anything had truly changed.

He emptied every single thought and feeling he’d stored up in his head onto the pillow of his bed as he tried to sleep. It allowed him to grieve; more so for himself and the loss of the bright little kid he used to be than Charlie. He accepted his companion’s death long ago, but that didn’t mean he’d accepted the way it changed him.

Usually people fall asleep easiest when thinking of happy memories. To Dan, sleep came just as easily when he'd exhausted his body of every last drop of emotion. Grief makes anyone tired.


	12. Stoke on Trent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ: this update is broken into two chapters. Chapter 11 is part of this update as well! Thank you for reading :)

Louise didn’t intend on waking up to an excited child jumping on her bed on Christmas Day. Part of the joy of children for her was that it never mattered what she wanted; it amazed her that she could love another person so much as to be alright with that notion. So, when her daughter Darcy came into her room at 8:30 in the morning, she sprung up out of bed and raced her into the sitting room.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” she asked her daughter, in the excitable tone that all mothers seem to adopt by virtue of having carried a baby for nine months.

“It’s a snow globe!” Darcy ran in circles around Louise, jumping and shaking the object as if it were more interesting than life itself. The object was a small model of Westminster Palace with London icons modelled onto the rim of the globe. She couldn’t contain her happiness at her daughter’s reaction; the bartering she had to do to get the globe was worth it in the end.

“Yes, it is. But be careful not to drop it!” Louise giggled before she picked up her daughter and zoomed her around the kitchen for a few minutes, Darcy still clinging onto the globe.

Darcy seemed to finally tire of running around with the globe and flew off to her room to put her prized possession on a table by her bed to look at. Louise was still in stiches over the reaction the simple gift received; she was glad that she got to share her Christmas with Darcy and experience the childlike amusement of the occasion through her daughter all over again. She felt blessed, especially as she was sure that many children this year wouldn’t be so lucky. Many adults as well.

_‘And then there’s Dan.’_

The thought came across her mind suddenly but very clearly. Her co-worker, her friend, had no family left. He didn’t have anyone really. He wouldn’t get to experience what she had with Darcy, not now, not ever given his particular circumstances.

She was soon dashing to her telephone to fix a plan. She knew exactly which line she could call.

“Yes, hello operator. I’d like to place a call to The Sketch in Milford Lane, please.” Louise jumped when she heard that the line she needed hadn’t been disconnected for Christmas.

~*~

Dan lazed around well into Christmas Day. He had no intention of going outside and seeing the town all festive and decorated. There was no one he wanted to see, or anyone who wanted to see him. He hadn’t even put up a Christmas tree or bought any presents. Even though he had no one to buy for who would be appropriate outside of work, he probably should have made an effort to observe the holiday.

 _‘With what money?’_ he caught himself asking. Alright, now he was just moping about it.

Dan dragged himself out of bed at 11am and fixed some breakfast. The bread had gone stale so he toasted that and slapped butter on it. He was still dressed in his boxers when the buzzer for the front door to the building rang. His heart was beating faster than it had all morning as he approached the door phone. It was otherwise so silent that he could hear the blood pump around his head.

“Uhm, hi, can I help?”

“Is that you, Dan? It’s Phil, I double checked the flat number and walked past the building twice to make sure so I hope I got it right…” Of course the spork didn’t trust himself to get the numbers right. If that didn’t prove Phil’s identity then Dan didn’t know what would.

Of course that endearing moment left to be desired a reason why Phil wanted to come up to the flat. The expanse between the buzzer ringing and Phil’s voice filling the room and making everything light again left Dan feeling dizzy. And then panicked.

“Wait? Phil? What in the hell are you doing here? Who even told you I lived here?” Dan’s voice broke and he had trouble breathing. The flat was a mess with clothes and dirty dishes piling up in the sink and God knows an ant nest was probably under construction somewhere inside.

“Oh, sorry I just… Louise told me, I didn’t think I’d be bothering you, just wanted to come by but if I am then I’ll just go back home and leave you in peace and I’m sorry if I did wrong, just thought that maybe we could hang out today, not because I didn’t think you’d have anything on and thought that it’d be okay to push in and all but I thought maybe it’d be a nice change from just sitting around and doing n-”

“Phil you’re rambling again, just wait a-”

“I’m sorry! Look I think maybe this isn’t a good time so I’ll just see you on Monday or something?”

“Just gimme a sec, dammit!”

Dan hung up the phone immediately and raced out the flat door and down the stairwell to street level. He opened the big entrance door in the lobby and caught the back of Phil’s head in his sights. The air was freezing outside and snow had begun falling overnight, but even though Dan was wearing almost no clothing, it didn’t feel cold.

“Phil, come on, you’re not interrupting anything or bothering my peace. You’re okay, you’re fine. I mean, upstairs is a mess but please don’t go.” Phil’s face was so red when he turned around to come back towards the door that he looked as if he were about to die of embarrassment.

“Uhm… Dan… you’re, you’re not wearing any trousers… or clothes at all, really…” Phil started right down at his colleague’s crotch, then quickly moving his eyes over Dan’s toned legs and up to his hairless chest. His complexion was so even and fair so that when Phil met the other’s eyes, he felt like he were standing before an angel.

“Ah… well, you rambled and I could tell you were talking yourself into a corner so I kinda just rushed down to see you… sorry.” Truthfully, Dan wasn’t sure he had much to apologise for. Phil looked all of embarrassed, amused, and anxious.

“Don’t tell me you’ve spent all day like this?”

“Well… I didn’t really have anything else planned so… yeah, I have. Wanna come up?” Dan looked at Phil almost begging him for an immediate answer; either reject the offer now and put him out of his misery or accept and help put his record of terrible Christmases back on track.

“I wouldn't have come all this way if I didn’t…” They smiled at each other and Dan cleared the way to close the door behind Phil and get them away from the coldness.

 

Dan decided to put some real clothes on and hid some of the mess away in his room as Phil came up to look around. Phil seemed almost disappointed when he returned with trousers and a long sleeve shirt tucked in with a waistcoat over the top. Dan had gone from too little clothing to an excessive amount.

“You don’t usually do Christmas? Is that a faith thing or? Only I noticed you don’t have a tree or anything so I kinda wondered if it was some sort of non-Christi-” Dan laughed the more and more Phil went on to qualify his original question.

“No silly, have you learned nothing from our time at work? I’m lazy mate, nothing more. My dad and I used to do Christmas together, but not anymore so I didn’t see the point. Plus, pine needles are the worst on a carpeted lounge room.” Phil nodded and moved around the flat to look. It was large enough, a little bit nicer than Phil’s. There weren’t any cracks in the walls and the building had gone through a refit at some point after the war.

“Just you living in this big place on your own? No Mrs Howell?” Dan sighed at the question. He wondered if he dare respond truthfully, although given what he knew about Phil it wouldn’t be a bad idea.

“No, nothing like that… 27 years old and there isn’t a Mrs Howell. Good thing my extended family isn’t in London or they’d kill me for letting the clan down,” Dan joked. Phil chuckled but not in an amused way.

“Why? I mean, you’re perfectly attractive and nice and smart, even if you don’t hand your writing in on time…” Phil caught himself rambling again and pulled himself back before he made any more mistakes. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. You don’t need to talk about it, I’m being stupid.”

“Yeah I know you are, that’s why I like you.” Dan tested the waters a bit and sent a wink at Phil. He enjoyed making him blush. “I guess I’m not what you’d call a ‘lady’s man,’ never been all that interested in women or marriage.” He could hear Phil swallowing from the other side of the room.

“So, what made you think about giving poor old Daniel a visit?”

“Well… uhh, I had nothing on and Louise caught me at work when she telephoned me this morning so… I thought it was better than reading papers…” Dan felt a rush of affection for his friend, he’d have to make an effort and actually get her a gift. It’d be nice for Darcy to see Uncle Dan again. She’d enjoy begging him for piggy backs and, as the doting uncle, he would always oblige.

“Good to know I’m better than reading papers, Philly.” Dan walked over to the kitchen to fix some drinks to give Phil some time to recover from the intense conversation.

“I didn’t mean it like that, please don’t think that I’d rather be-”

“Phil buddy, you’ve gotta relax. I’m just joking around. It’s alright.” Dan handed him a gin and clinked their glasses before Phil had time to accept.

“Alcohol at midday on Christmas? Maybe I should stop by more often.” Phil smiled at Dan and sipped on his drink as they settled in the lounge to talk and keep each other company. It felt better this way to Dan; spending a day indoors away from the cold to just interact rather than forcing it by going out and doing an activity.

After an hour, Phil’s tongue was much looser. Dan never stopped refilling their drinks. He had only a scrap of awareness left in him when he thought about whether he should finally put the awkwardness of catching Phil out in the office behind them. He could just bring it up and comfort him by admitting his own situation.

“Hey Phil?”

“Yeah? If you’re gonna… uhm, offer another drink then I’ll be staying until the cows come home.” Dan giggled, he definitely didn’t think Phil needed another one. Although he might to get through this.

“No, nothing like that… I just wanted to ask you something.”

“And what’d that be?”

“It’s dumb really, I just… ah shit...”

“What is it?”

“Sorry it’s hard to just come out with it…”

“Okay well count to three with me and then on zero, just blurt it out?” The suggestion was so ridiculous and if he weren’t drunk, Dan would probably have laughed. But part of it made sense.

“Alright… On zero…” Dan felt his heart leap out of his chest and his ears go hot as he prepared himself.

“Three… two… one…”

“I saw you in the office with that guy.”

It was as if the alcohol and the effect disappeared. Phil wiped the smile off his face and sat up from the couch to look at Dan. He’d seen what? Which guy? When was this? The playfulness of the conversation vanished, all that was left was the awkward aftermath of explanation.

“It was you…” Phil whispered. He couldn’t discern Dan’s feelings towards him now. His face was deadly serious. Did he hate him?

“Yeah… It was…”

“Who else knows?”

“No one, I haven’t told a soul. God, Phil, knowing what they’d do to you I wouldn’t dare.”

“Good.” Phil sighed. The silence in the room left the clocks to fill the gaps with ticking. “Dan, look, don’t freak out. Please, just let me explain… See, it was just a guy I was friends with and-”

“No, God Phil, please don’t.” Dan moved over to sit next to the man and took his hands in his own. “For the love of God don’t say that he’s only your friend and that I misunderstood… I know what I saw and I don’t want you to deny it, not to me.”

Phil deflated and let himself feel Dan’s touch. He couldn’t understand what Dan felt. “I’m not going to let them lock me up, I’ll run. I’ll quit my job and leave town if you want. Just don’t… please don’t…” Phil broke down right then and there. Dan wasn’t even sure he had listened to the conversation.

All that was going through Phil’s mind as the tears welled up behind his eyes was horrible visions of prison.

_You’re not a good person. You deserve to rot. Do yourself a favour and just give in. Get the injection and just stop trying to pretend you’re normal. You’re different. You’re a criminal. You’re evil._

“Listen to me,” Dan whispered into his ear as Phil grabbed onto his shirt and soaked it with tears. He clung on as if he were about to be ripped away. “Phil, no one is going to know. You’re safe, you’re not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know what it’s like. My life is over, I don’t have a life. I’m a terrible person and I deserve what’s coming to me.”

“Phil. Can I just ask one thing, and you have to answer honestly and fully and you have to say the words.” Phil nodded his buried head into Dan’s shirt. “Are you a homosexual?”

Phil couldn’t answer. He couldn’t say the words, he could hardly admit it. He nodded against Dan’s body and pushed himself further towards him to try to leave the world.

“You have to say the words, Phil. Please… I need you to say them.”

“I’m a… I’m…” He choked on his own sobs.

“Just listen to me breathe. We’ll try again, don’t worry. I’ve got you.” Dan cradled the man in his arms and waited five minutes until Phil stopped crying and looked up into his eyes. The desperation in those blue eyes was enough to make Dan break in half. “I practiced saying it for so many years. It’s hard, it never stops being hard. But it gets easier, and maybe one day it’ll be easier for other people as well. But for now, we need to get used to it ourselves.”

“Are you saying that you’re… like… me?” Phil asked. The fear in his eyes intensified and Dan had to muster up every bit of courage in his body to respond.

“Yeah, Phil, I’m exactly like you. I’m a… I’m a homosexual.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This past month has been absolutely the most messed up one in the past two years of my life, so sorry for that. But anyway, I'm taking a week holiday to get back on track and this is the first night (yay!) and I seem to be motivated enough to write, which is nice. I missed doing updates and the first half of this chapter has been rotting on my computer since Christmas (hence why the Christmas update is a month late sry guys) -- anyway I finished the chapter all in one go and I'm so much happier with it over anything I've written for this story in the time since the last update. I could have posted an update three weeks ago but I just couldn't get what I wanted onto the page unfortunately...
> 
> This update is broken into two chapters; not of equal length like I would want but I put the break somewhere that makes sense I think.


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